


Freeze

by Layni1771



Series: Stray Kids AUs [9]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks, This is not Happy, and some day, at all, i am projecting, i will be better at tagging, it had to be someone, nonidol!au, sorry changbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layni1771/pseuds/Layni1771
Summary: Sometimes Changbin cannot bother others with his panic attacks, and has to deal with it all himself.





	Freeze

**Author's Note:**

> So I am posting this completely out of order because up until now, everything I wrote was posted in the order it was written. There are six other oneshots that are supposed to come before this, but I am 113% projecting my panic attack from today on Changbin and I wanted this out of my drafts ASAP so here it is. This has absolutely no positive resolution.;; So sorry. Also this is not the normal style I write in so bear with me.  
> [TRIGGER WARNINGS: Anxiety/panic attacks, anxiety disorder, graphic metaphors, strong language, references to puking, self-harming habits]

Changbin supposes his first clue should have been the way his mind was empty.

More often than not, his head is filled with ideas that he cannot get rid of, that he is stuck on. They repeat and try to drown out all other rational thoughts as Changbin goes through his day, but over the years he has become quite skilled at pushing those thoughts to the background. Still, background noise is background noise that he can _hear_ , and so when that and all other thoughts in his mind were mysteriously missing, Changbin should have realized something was wrong. Still, that is the problem- His mind is empty, he is not even thinking as he lays in bed and stares at his dirty floor, so there is no way for him to catch onto the initial warning signs. It's a problem he will later wish he knew how to fix.

As it is, Changbin is unprepared when the first shuttering breath comes.

It is painful, and shocking. It rips through his body like claws do fabric, and his whole being shakes with the force of it. He hardly has enough time to think _oh no_ before the next one comes, and tears are pricking his eyes. His hands clench the dark green fabric of his favorite blanket until his knuckles turn white, and Changbin's previously-empty mind is now pressing at his ears, overloaded with sensory information and words he does not want to look at because they hurt. The sheer volume is making him grind his teeth, attempting to relieve the imaginary pressure that feels so damn real he could just vomit. In fact, he thinks he might do just that because his stomach is rolling similarly to a small rock in vicious ocean waves, and he feels just as small as one.

Changbin's eyes are becoming wetter by the moment and he blinks furiously in an attempt to rid himself of it. He knows that he is stressed today- He has been stressed for the past half a week, really, unbearably so. He recalls nearly breaking down while walking into the grocery store to buy things for dinner earlier a few days ago, and once again when he was left in the car alone. He remembers crying last night at three a.m. but that was because it was his designated crying-time that he gave himself once every two weeks so things wouldn't build up to, to _this_. Clearly his method has failed yet again and he wonders distantly if he should try to call someone.

But he cannot be a burden today. Today is a day where people want to be happy and he knows he wants to keep his negativity away from them, even if it means drowning in his own special brand of a dark hell of a headspace. Changbin feels his shoulders tense up even more than they already have and he knows the worst is coming. He can feel it prodding at him, something terribly lonely and soul-consuming and terrifying waiting just behind his trembling body. It is a sensation he is intimately familiar with.

That does not help him.

Changbin pushes himself up on suspiciously weak arms as the first of his tears spill over and burn like acid on his cheeks. He realizes he has been biting his bottom lip and sucking on his tongue for much longer than he thought, because both are bleeding and the guilt makes everything all the worse. The sounds of the neighborhood children playing that is floating through his open window feels like it is legitimately tearing at his eardrums, heightening the anxiety tenfold and he wants to get up to close it. He really does, but his legs feel weak and he still cannot breathe right. Every breath is shaky and punctuated with gasps that do not belong. The salty taste of iron matches with the stinging of the injuries he has unwittingly bestowed upon himself and he swallows tart saliva.

It is terribly unpleasant and Changbin leans forward, his tangled hair hanging in front of his eyes as they continue to _drip drip d r  i   p . . ._

He can feel the muscles in his stomach beginning to cramp from his rapid breathing and the room is both spinning and too still all at once. The pressure inside of his skull is splitting as he looks at the textured ceiling of his bedroom. This space is bright but covered in shadows and he wants it to either be completely dark so he is swallowed for all eternity, or so bright that he cannot possibly cast a single damn shadow. Changbin feels his throat aching now, something moved wrong when he breathed and it _hurts_. He is always in pain.

Despite noticing all of these things, Changbin still has the impression that his mind is empty. Despite the fullness breaking his skull open so his blood and brains can stain the bed, it is empty. That is the only word that can possibly fit.

Changbin wants to compare these tears he is crying to acid. They are leaving marks behind on his skin, pressing deeply into him and leaving an impression he knows he can never forget. They are the invisible scars that only he can see when he looks in the mirror, that can only be felt with his own textured fingertips when he runs them across his cheeks.

He fucking hates the way he is right now- Mucus clogging up his nose, spit dripping from parted lips as he tries to catch his breath but only makes it worse, the honest physical pain he feels with every twisted sob that breaks itself in his chest, the claws piercing his shoulders, the blades stabbing his back and sides, his trembling, his burning eyes, the oxymoron of the spinning-and-still room, each and every sound making him flinch and want to hide under his covers, good _God_ there is so much more to list but he is upsetting himself further and he needs to stop. Changbin needs everything to just...Stop. Freeze. He needs time to stop because he is running behind but he is also so far ahead and he wants to find the proper place before he presses play again.

Changbin presses his back against his pillows and his head knocks hollowly on the wall. He is trying to ground himself, trying to find something real. Not only that, but if his back is not open then that soul-consuming worst cannot possibly grab him from behind and eat him until there is nothing left inside of his weak body. The moss-green blanket is not enough- It is too soft and hell, he thinks maybe it's even making it worse. Changbin has been through this countless times before and theoretically he knows what to do. But no. Just...No. That's all there is. No. He wraps a hand around his mouth, squeezing around his jaw as he takes those hurtful breaths through clenched teeth, bleeding lips, and cold fingers.

Slowly, those fingers are being heated by his own tears.

The panic and hate he is feeling begins to subside, little by little, as the world continues on around him. Changbin knows no one will notice when he finally shows his face for the first time today- That he is subtly shaking still? The tremors are an ordinary occurrence and such a sudden, clearly ringing thought brings his sobbing to a halt. Once again, Changbin is staring at the messy floor of his bedroom. He wipes at his invisibly-scarred face with the backs of his hands and stands on legs he isn't sure he is feeling. The loud squealing of the door as he pulls it open is like a pick driving itself into his ear. Still, he makes his way to the fridge. The hallway is empty and so is the kitchen. Changbin grabs a soda and opens it, taking a long drink.

He is hoping the bright taste and _popopop_ ping carbonation will convince him to feel something again, because he knows there is something wrong with this emptiness.


End file.
